"gowned" poems
[tongue taking taken prayer]
*come worship in my temple.
your tongue gowned by silence,
thy teasing vibrations disperse my slack,
exchanging it for a rigidity that is even softer, looser,
an improvement possibility impossibly incomprehensible
the noises of freedom from anonymity is thy silenced tongue
unleashed, teasing, speaking tongues unrelenting and unremitting, tongues unforgotten for they never were
learned, and incapable of being self-taught
my pleasure sprouts mushrooms in thy loamy foam,
thy rainfall nourishment, seed plant growing life morning borne,
thy tricked up sonnets played within my hearts harp,
tunes never known but coming from the land of plenty,
my new promised land
teach me where the apostrophe goes, the comma and
why the question mark is curved and dotted like my body,
why we need punctuation to separate the first from the next
trees weep as if every dry rain petal is instantly imbibed,
wanting more for my swollen by thy ministrations,
I cry out
my ice storm, my thunder, embalm me within the
electric spreading in my veins shocking steady constant
thy name thy name I beg to give thee a name
to understand what has befallen me*
you can call me by my favorite of
all my seventy two,^
your first baby squeals and
even now in human manufactured agreed upon symbols
(words),
every utterance a prayer heard and answered
my name is a heated and unbroken
hallelujah,
I am thy god, and you, darling you,
my beloved
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
Day of mist: day of tarnish
with hands
unserviceable, I wait
for the milk van
the one-eared cat
laps its gray paw
and the coal fire burns
outside, the little hedge leaves are
become quite yellow
a milk-film blurs
the empty bottles on the windowsill
no glory descends
two water drops poise
on the arched green
stem of my neighbor's rose bush
o bent bow of thorns
the cat unsheathes its claws
the world turns
today
today I will not
disenchant my twelve black-gowned examiners
or bunch my fist
in the wind's sneer.
5.4k
Too far away, oh love, I know,
To save me from this haunted road,
Whose lofty roses break and blow
On a night-sky bent with a load
Of lights: each solitary rose,
Each arc-lamp golden does expose
Ghost beyond ghost of a blossom, shows
Night blenched with a thousand snows.
Of hawthorn and of lilac trees,
White lilac; shows discoloured night
Dripping with all the golden lees
Laburnum gives back to light.
And shows the red of hawthorn set
On high to the purple heaven of night,
Like flags in blenched blood newly wet,
Blood shed in the noiseless fight.
Of life for love and love for life,
Of hunger for a little food,
Of kissing, lost for want of a wife
Long ago, long ago wooed.
. . . . . .
Too far away you are, my love,
To steady my brain in this phantom show
That passes the nightly road above
And returns again below.
The enormous cliff of horse-chestnut trees
Has poised on each of its ledges
An ***** small girl looking down at me;
White-night-gowned little chits I see,
And they peep at me over the edges
Of the leaves as though they would leap, should I call
Them down to my arms;
"But, child, you're too small for me, too small
Your little charms."
White little sheaves of night-gowned maids,
Some other will thresh you out!
And I see leaning from the shades
A lilac like a lady there, who braids
Her white mantilla about
Her face, and forward leans to catch the sight
Of a man's face,
Gracefully sighing through the white
Flowery mantilla of lace.
And another lilac in purple veiled
Discreetly, all recklessly calls
In a low, shocking perfume, to know who has hailed
Her forth from the night: my strength has failed
In her voice, my weak heart falls:
Oh, and see the laburnum shimmering
Her draperies down,
As if she would slip the gold, and glimmering
White, stand naked of gown.
. . . . . .
The pageant of flowery trees above
The street pale-passionate goes,
And back again down the pavement, Love
In a lesser pageant flows.
Two and two are the folk that walk,
They pass in a half embrace
Of linked bodies, and they talk
With dark face leaning to face.
Come then, my love, come as you will
Along this haunted road,
Be whom you will, my darling, I shall
Keep with you the troth I trowed.
4.2k
*blondes, brunettes and redheads,
the goodbye colors of the
street's tree choir members
and their leafy gowned denizens,
the good stiff chill upon them,
the selfsame chill
in my anguished mind
now hiding,
sing a comfort food song
heard above the quiet terror of the
noises of a fall winters-wind precursor
"once we green,
once we were renewal,
life everlasting emblems
once,
you were wee,
green uncaring and free,
presuming that you too,
were in possession of
life everlasting
your colors have changed as well,
endless is the process,
only slower than
a tree's scheduled maintenance,
moreover,
returning you to your first
crayon drawing youth
unlike us, an impossibility
we will turn young again
for many seasons more,
you
never will
new eyes will feast upon our
glories refreshed and love our
cast shade cast
yet special are you the man,
poet who was chosen
to see and tell,
witness to our resurrection,
during our overlapping,
parallel continuum in time
when to the shade of hades
you physic sent,
our limbs, our leaves,
our perennial lives,
for-as-long-as-they-shall-last,
will cover thy remains and
give your poems back to the
sultry summer breeze from
whence they came
and the colors
of your words
will be the colors
of a free life everlasting"*
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
*
~for Bill T. Jones~
two poets, laureates both,
on the nature of hunger, they discourse,
in temple, where sacrificing is to living arts
I was there, hungry in every aspect,
seeking wisdom of the hungering nature of human.
examine the word, hunger,
hardly a rolling off the tongue mellifluous.
you growl it from the gut, in gowned resplendent ugliness,
go ahead, try it, it’s coarse and powerful insistent.
awoken empty but for the hunger, hungover from
dancing words and imagery not mine, now mine,
maddeningly demanding my dutiful attentions,
as if hunger was the master, me, obedient pupil.
the clean white slate the IPad re-presents repeatedly,
insulted that I have yet to crayon color it with the coherence
of hunger-exhaled words, dismissive that I am but an also-ran,
my village of lexical too unsophisticated,
the page addressed yet unplanned,
Apple white
is the color of the
starving artist.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
--To W. A.
Was I a Samurai renowned,
Two-sworded, fierce, immense of bow?
A histrion angular and profound?
A priest? a porter?--Child, although
I have forgotten clean, I know
That in the shade of Fujisan,
What time the cherry-orchards blow,
I loved you once in old Japan.
As here you loiter, flowing-gowned
And hugely sashed, with pins a-row
Your quaint head as with flamelets crowned,
Demure, inviting--even so,
When merry maids in Miyako
To feel the sweet o' the year began,
And green gardens to overflow,
I loved you once in old Japan.
Clear shine the hills; the rice-fields round
Two cranes are circling; sleepy and slow,
A blue canal the lake's blue bound
Breaks at the bamboo bridge; and lo!
Touched with the sundown's spirit and glow,
I see you turn, with flirted fan,
Against the plum-tree's bloomy snow . . .
I loved you once in old Japan!
Envoy
Dear, 'twas a dozen lives ago;
But that I was a lucky man
The Toyokuni here will show:
I loved you--once--in old Japan.
2.5k
'Dockery was junior to you,
Wasn't he?' said the Dean. 'His son's here now.'
Death-suited, visitant, I nod. 'And do
You keep in touch with-' Or remember how
Black-gowned, unbreakfasted, and still half-tight
We used to stand before that desk, to give
'Our version' of 'these incidents last night'?
I try the door of where I used to live:
Locked. The lawn spreads dazzlingly wide.
A known bell chimes. I catch my train, ignored.
Canal and clouds and colleges subside
Slowly from view. But Dockery, good Lord,
Anyone up today must have been born
In '43, when I was twenty-one.
If he was younger, did he get this son
At nineteen, twenty? Was he that withdrawn
High-collared public-schoolboy, sharing rooms
With Cartwright who was killed? Well, it just shows
How much . . . How little . . . Yawning, I suppose
I fell asleep, waking at the fumes
And furnace-glares of Sheffield, where I changed,
And ate an awful pie, and walked along
The platform to its end to see the ranged
Joining and parting lines reflect a strong
Unhindered moon. To have no son, no wife,
No house or land still seemed quite natural.
Only a numbness registered the shock
Of finding out how much had gone of life,
How widely from the others. Dockery, now:
Only nineteen, he must have taken stock
Of what he wanted, and been capable
Of . . . No, that's not the difference: rather, how
Convinced he was he should be added to!
Why did he think adding meant increase?
To me it was dilution. Where do these
Innate assumptions come from? Not from what
We think truest, or most want to do:
Those warp tight-shut, like doors. They're more a style
Our lives bring with them: habit for a while,
Suddenly they harden into all we've got
And how we got it; looked back on, they rear
Like sand-clouds, thick and close, embodying
For Dockery a son, for me nothing,
Nothing with all a son's harsh patronage.
Life is first boredom, then fear.
Whether or not we use it, it goes,
And leaves what something hidden from us chose,
And age, and then the only end of age.
2.5k
Glad to see you, the ORANGE hatted man said to the YELLOW shirted Person seated in the FULL Reclining Chair, WHICH *By the *way, was ONLY in the Half Back Position. Being in the Half-Back Position allowed the YELLOW shirted Person to respond in Just a Slightly UPLIFTED EYE ANGLE !! And, the ORANGE Hatted man, Peering Down, with Head ***** Gave EACH of them an EQUAL Opposition Eye Angle of 22 Degrees EXACT ! ! Now, to Verify the fact of Equal Opposition, the PROTRACTOR MAN arrived promptly on the scene to Evaluate the Situation.. He (protractor-man) Had , for the Very FIRST-TIME, been especially Called for this HISTORIC Moment . YES,,YES,, For the very "FIRST-TIME" Equal Opposition between an ORANGE hatted man and a YELLOW shirted person, USING the Measurement of "ALL-MEANING", *THAT IS:: "The Protractor of Life"... This Historic moment would forever be Relished by Another Member of THE SOCIETY , BUT it was up to the Assigned Protractor Man to Assure all Interested Parties, That the ANGLE of Exactness was * C O R R E C T ! ! OR....it wouldn't COUNT ! OH DEAR GOD,,"THOUGHT" the assigned Protractor man, Let my Measurements be CORRECT ! ! The ORANGE Hatted man continued to Patiently Peer at the YELLOW shirted person seated in the :HALF-BACK * Position in the Full Reclining Chair.. A Trumpet Blast form a BRONZE Bassoon,, announced the arrival of a SPECIAL LADY ;Fully Gowned in STARTLING PINK AND Glimmering WHITE PEARLS , adorning Her Neck and SUN-KISSED" DIAMONDS flashed from her Fingers. In her Right hand she firmly grasped an envelope. She Careful in her opening ,as if it were a SEVEN-SEALED SCROLL ** Pulled out the PURPLE with GOLD INLAY INSCRIPTION ,"CERTIFICATE OF APPROVAL " FOR THE Magnificent level of ACHIEVEMENT by the ORANGE hatted and YELLOW shirted man ,VERIFIED BY AN "UN-COLORED " PROTRACTOR-MAN" "HEAVENLY" PRAISES AND ACCOLADES FILLED THE AIR** AND A "BOOMING-THUNDERING VOICED" "NOT-EVERYTHING WILL BE IN......."B L A C K & W H I T E " ! !
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 3:26 AM UTC
a carnival of hords in withering grass
the high priestess tongues the beast
wet mandible
on a dragging
death gowned doll
like a cyclone coils paradise
trans mutative
prismatic unfurling's
passed bones of confusion
passed scorched refuse
of radiating spiraled phantoms
the more gods, the more demons
battle angel symmetries
in Taoist jaws
galactic lurking's
into parametric infinities
escalating war like cloud light
rush glittering arms of affliction
exhalations like upleaping sail fish
drizzle sooty rain
shellacking tinsel rhinos
on hieroglyphs of the barbarous
a transfixed guttural prana;
apostasy
between advances and retreats
in chimeras earth quake palace
death: a new begining.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC
I said, “My youth is gone
Like a fire beaten out by the rain,
That will never sway and sing
Or play with the wind again.”
I said, “It is no great sorrow
That quenched my youth in me,
But only little sorrows
Beating ceaselessly.”
I thought my youth was gone,
But you returned—
Like a flame at the call of the wind
It leaped and burned;
Threw off its ashen cloak,
And gowned anew
Gave itself like a bride
Once more to you.
1.7k
In my house there is a cupboard
Full of VHS tapes
One of them is a recording of a news broadcast
On it I stand
Hospital gowned and smiling
Clowns are there on the terrace where it was filmed
Painting our faces
They all smile
I smile
The other kids smile
None of us over 4 feet
But balding
Black eyed and missing toothed
A clown takes my hand and begins to paint
It is cold
The paint
And the Terrace
I tell her how I want to run away with her
She smiles
Maybe
On camera
You can see my back through the open gown
The bones make me look like a brontosaurus
I turn to the camera
Remembering I was told never to smile with the paint on
or it will crack
The circles under my eyes are gone
My lips are red
My cheeks are tan
I look normal
Off camera
mommies and daddies are crying
Off camera
the clowns are crying
On camera
There is a terrace full of dying children
In a hospital
And we all looked normal
May 10, 2011
May 10, 2011 at 11:25 AM UTC
The warble frocks and debutantes,
Soprano trilling nightingales,
The extras dressed as elephants
And tenors with their penguin tails;
They mingle at the opera house
With canapés on silver trays;
Then dine on pigeon, goose and grouse,
To reminisce their finest plays;
When Romeo found Juliet
The crowds were on their feet for days,
When mighty Caesar’s end was met,
The press regaled with highest praise;
Such fine upstanding citizens,
So crisply draped, so brightly gowned;
The marvel of these denizens,
So rarely seen, so well renowned.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
*I went to sleep one night
Deep asleep I opened my eyes
It was dark and surreal
The stars where sprinkled everywhere
The moon was bright and clear
I saw you in my bed sleeping
You had a wedding ring in your hand
You were wearing a beautiful black gowned
I couldn't believe we were married and
I am next to my love
It felt really good like my heart had stopped
You put your arms around and held me tight
I floated above your body and woke you up
Your spirit came with me and we wondered together
In one second, we stepped into the dance floor
We both had a mask on shaped like a heart
I looked around and time moved fast
The Spanish music filled the air
You had a red dress on
You where dancing and spinning around
I grabbed your arm and kissed your hand
We danced and floated in the sky
Fast across the moon was high
Suddenly it was the first day that I met you
A rose was tucked behind my back
I caressed the rose around your neck
We danced and saw a shooting star
Beneath it a river stream not too far
We danced and wondered all night
The sun peaked and shined a streak of light
The music filled the air
The blue Danube symphony was there
The birds chuckled and flew high
I saw your face in the sky
You where looking at me and laughing
Like an angel face and very bright
I stretched my hands and grabbed your arms
You got closer and held me tight
You woke me up suddenly
and when I woke you where still sleeping
I thanked The Lord and felt good
I held you closer and fell asleep*
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
My arms I wrap
Around my knees
And rest my chin
Atop them
The hood of my cotton coat
Keeps my braided hair dry
While it soaks up the
Cloud’s tears
A patch of African violets
Grow before my feet
Their small patch
Gowned with dew
The intense purple of the violet
It is deep
Grounding
And proud
It does not resemble a shy flower
Such as the sun daises that
Close their petals at night
Its color voice
Speaks outgoing adventure
And seeking mystery
The irises of my green eyes
Seem to make contact
With each violet’s center
Its face
My eye’s irises
The violets hidden eyes
We both count
Count the silent tick of the dark night
Swallowing all the shadows of tree and stone
Night’s clock ticking
So many branches
The patient drip drip sound
Of dew from the tips of the green
The torn departure of frost
Bitten leaves from their branch strongholds
The silent cackling of the demon’s moon
The slow formation
Of the stars overhead
Moving together to form their ancient constellations
All these things
Among a thousand others
Some unseen
Some unspoken
Some not yet known
Form nature’s circular
Clock of time nonexistent
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
Lately I've been
Thinking about this little girl
That was in the room next to mine
At the state rehab
Facility when I
Was 13
She was always
Crying
And being
Told to wash her face
Use her coping skills
She was 6
And her parents told
Her they were going
Out for
ice cream
Then they dropped her
Off
And she hasn't seen
Them in two weeks
So she's crying
And she's scared
And she's telling this
To a drugged up
Hospital gowned (they took all my clothes at check in)
Preteen
She's scared
I've got scars up
And down my arms
She's scared
And she's crying
And this isn't the ice cream parlor
Down the street
From her suburban home
And this isn't her bed
These aren't her friends
And I don't know why
But I promised her that everything would be ok
And that it was fine to be scared
her parents were coming back
Everything would be fine
And perhaps there would be pudding
With sprinkles at lunch
Which is pretty close to ice cream.
I wrapped my pinky around
Hers
Half the size
And I promised her all of these things
None of which I really knew
To be true
A nurse came barreling down the hallway
And screamed at me
For interacting with a younger
Girl in a different program
Then they moved her to a different room
I never saw her again
Heard her cry
And I forgot about her
Little blotchy
Swollen face
Crying to me
Throughout the years
Then a few weeks ago
I remembered that you had promised to me
You would always be here
Which you couldn't possibly know
And I thought of the girl
And the ice cream
All of the promises I made
I wondered if I had lied
To her
And I wondered
Why we so often
Make promises
We aren't entirely sure
Will be kept?
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 2:01 PM UTC
the flower
has more moisture
than the Soil
and the earthTones
have less vivid tinctures
with solid Toil
a power. the truth. the sky.
a flower. new bloom
with its rancid clutter
around the vase, the pulled
and fallen, petals -
the drab droplettes of glad tidings
or sad-like bells
clanged with clamour
all gowned in glamour
touched by a hover or glide
in the stature of things
and the square rings
that yield a snoot, the way
a drop is sad with smell
the power. a flash. and smiles.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
When the rain is cold and pelting
When the windstorm shreds the trees
Do you find your courage wanting?
Is there weakness in the knees?
Have you faced the dark intruder?
Have you stared that challenge down?
Have you summoned forth the fortitude,
To keep humiliation gowned?
Camouflaged the leaden spinelessness,
That dreaded empty space,
Where once there was a warrior
Who wore courage on his face.
Felt the thrashing of the current
As the waves come pounding in,
Inexorably it lacerates
And tears the fair white skin.
The brutality of bedrock,
The blackness of the night,
And the fear that runs like mercury
Through the torment and the fright.
The uselessness of effort,
The lassitude of limb,
It’s the cramping ague of gutlessness
That is consuming him.
Dissipating storm clouds
The skies begin to clear
And with it go emergencies
And with it goes the fear.
Residually it lingers
As a gnawing hollow blend
Of anxious blue inadequacies,
Of unsubstantiated end
To performance under duress,
Compared to that which is the norm,
It’s just a blinding lack of courage
Whilst in the torment of the storm.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
24 November 2008
Jan 22, 2010
Jan 22, 2010 at 10:00 AM UTC
When they say 'Winter Wonderland'
which winter and from what land?
Is it the one from the North?
where the temperatures are low
the snow is heavy and the icicles grow
The frost covered windows works to ensure
you'll stay inside with hot cocoa and a s'more
Where toys are unwrapped and then put away
to be used on a future warm spring day
Is it the wonder of the East?
Where the snow is light and wet
and the thermostat reads 'cold', and yet
bonfires in the fields and roasted marshmallows
and picking the last petal on a rose mallow
to be place on the wreath hung on the wall
made of remnants of memories of the last fall
Or could it be the wintery West?
Where the locals are wearin' sweaters
as they play in the chilled weather
where the stiff, cool breeze creates a shiver
across houses decorated in gold and silver
as people come to visit family and friends
and dream of staying till' summer's end
Or maybe it's the wonderful South?
Warm and sunny all year round
where Santa stays when not suited and gowned
where the fires stay lit, but only for effect
outside, off of giant couches, families defect
and shaken snow-globes provide the only snow-filled day
So where, pray tell, does your winter wonderland lay?
Dec 24, 2010
Dec 24, 2010 at 8:07 PM UTC
The air is stayed
By the hum of voices
They whisper through the divides
Between each leaf and branch
As smooth and unnoticeable
As the green beetles slow crawl and watchful eye
Voices trickle down the transparent
Curving body of the forest’s streams
Every caress the waters
Give to the rocks
Whose slippery surfaces are gowned
With moss so green
Chew more and more away
The cold stone
The vibration of every tone
Shakes the dome topped dew
Droplets from the blades of grass
That in the night’s closed walls
Grow still
With no wind to blow
No sun light to warm them
Nature thrives through these voices
As these voices thrive through nature
Nature keeps counsel with all life
And dances arm in arm with death
Life
Death
Nature
They resemble tapestries
That hung on the walls
Of medieval halls
Tapestries of three intertwining serpents
Each devouring the other
Forming a cycle
Of continuous rebirth
The beetle chews the leaf
The bird swallows the beetle
The fox eats the bird
The leaf falls from the branch
The stream carries it down its rapids
The fish nip at it thinking it is an insect
And the bird catches the fish
Particles are born
Angelical masks are worn
Tragic ends in lives are torn
And everything is reborn
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 10:15 PM UTC
Stormy town
grayly gowned
by
brooding cloud,
puddled ground
Pouring loud
soothing sound
the
gentle rain
oozing down
Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 3:26 PM UTC
Time binds us
tightly with red silken ribbons,
woeful reminders of
our naked mortality,
acting as string tied
round fingers to remember,
even if we want to erase minds
and forget our deadlines.
We are not gowned to our toes
in the golden gleam of forever,
one period upcoming
in our lives,
hopefully a fair distance
from present skies.
Our epilogues will be written
for us by fate
and death combined,
achieving a certainty
we have known since thigh-high.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
held up in gutterwork masterpieces,
half a shard of torn and ragged paper edged on,
where once it bore, proud and in eager definition,
a reminder of little importance or,
a note of sweet insincerity or,
the last refuge of an eviscerated mind;
and, lost to entropic freedom,
no-body would care to ever even want to begin deciphering those smears.
not that they could, anyway.
the death of parking lot culture,
they say,
is all down to the skin on the teeth,
of a couple earthquake-gowned security wardens,
and the irresistible clamour
of city lights:
"just gotta get away, get outta this place" you say,
when you haven't slept
a real night
in three or so months, at last count, in the best-case,
whereas the real tragedy
is the drizzle,
that you're sure
will never,
ever,
cease to fall,
inside of you,
even though you keep telling yourself,
it's still just a lie.
it's all just a storytime fabrication.
it's all just waiting to fall apart.
and you're just hoping it's sometime soon.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:52 AM UTC
Nature’s tongue speech
Echoes eclipsed messages
Those with meaning obscure
Only to be understood
By those with watchful ears and eyes of clarity
Seclusion within the draping ivy
Enclosed groves where
Orange butterflies sleep
On the hanging leaves
Or on the moss gowned boulders
Aquatic *******
Those emerge from the river’s surface
These settings of nature
Among countless others
Are cloisters offered
To humanity to give
Spacious thought and contemplation
Clarity is gifted to those
Whose minds are fogged with worry
Innovation given to those who feel lost
Along with answers to questions clogging the ego
Simplicity is nature’s
Sentinel watch
Bringing to full fall anything
Of complicated form
The bosun of all trivial thought
Is opened to a palace of abundant wonders
Once they witness nature’s smile
The bosoms of all trees send out
Vibrational waves of ancient breath
Breath that keeps all alive
The stars that are the
Watchful eyes of the sky
Shed tears for those
Happenings of sorrowful textures
And light for those happenings
Of a lover’s delight
Teachings ascend generations
In light year slowness
Reminding the new born youth
Of the songs that brought life to being
The fathomless oceans hold mysteries
Unimaginable and dangerous
Nature holds all in its arms
All but ego and corruption
These that exist only in the human mind
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 11:46 PM UTC